


On the flipside

by therewithasmile



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hades/Persephone AU, Hell, Humour, Making it up As I Go Along, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therewithasmile/pseuds/therewithasmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Sol ever wanted to do was run her own flower shop. One misfortune and a pomegranate later, and she somehow ended up forced into spending her winters in the underworld married to Cullen, the Prince of Hell. Suddenly her daily life consists of death, flowers, magic, aristocracy, and an unloving yet faithful demon husband. </p><p>A modern Hades and Persephone au that follows the misadventures of Sol and Cullen through their married life, in literal Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the flipside

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a prompt off tumblr, in which people sent a pairing/setting/trope to play with. I got Cullen and Sol, Hell, and Enemies to Lovers. This is what resulted. 
> 
> This is a nice break from writing The Long Walk, and I've been wanting to chuck Cullen and Sol outside of canon DA settings to mess with them even more. So here we go, Hades/Persephone inspired AU.
> 
> I don't have a timeline for them nor a plot really thought out so this is just gonna update as I think of more things to throw them into, haha. It'll take place in 'arc' format, so each little adventure will be titled that way. Also, it's very strange to write a Cullen who actually dislikes Sol. And vice versa. 
> 
> Oh and, if things happen, rating may change.

The first time he appeared in her shop, Sol nearly dropped the flowerpot in her arms.

Several things happened at once: her display toppled over; a watering can clattered noisily onto the tiled floor; and, despite catching herself, somehow he’d managed to land on a pot, and the next thing she knew, the sound of terracotta smashing into a million pieces rang loudly in her ears.

She glared at him. “I told you Cullen. You are _not_ allowed to do that.”

The man in question straightened and blinked back at her, before his cheeks puffed and his molten gold eyes turned to steel. “Trust me, it wasn’t of my own volition.”

Sol clicked her tongue and lifted the flower pot once more. “And what if there was a customer?”

“I don’t think my dear sister quite cares,” was his response.

Sol grit her teeth in frustration. She tried to ignore his plodding footsteps as he sauntered behind her, equally ignoring the sound of him settling against the desk. “Look, Sol. It wasn’t a choice – but for the record, I’m sorry.”

She shot him another glare, her eyes raking from his form, his clothes, the ring on his finger. “For God’s sake,” she seethed, “at least have the decency to wear our clothes.”

Of all things, a _chuckle_ blew from his lips. “Right right, in the cupboard upstairs to the left. And my brother has a name.” He moved away before she could chase him out, spade in hand.

“And for _God’s_ sake,” she yelled as he retreated up the stairs, “put away your fucking _tail.”_

* * *

Sol had stopped working by the time he came back downstairs, a simple button down shirt and slacks replacing his tattooed torso and _loincloth_. And his ass was thankfully a human ass, and not a tailed one any longer. He finally looked human again, with tousled blond hair and amber eyes. His gaze caught hers as he turned with the banister, standing still as they stared at each other.

“You’re not planting,” Cullen stated. Sol pointed a finger to the door, where the _Open_ sign was flipped.

“Yeah,” she responded coolly. “I got an unexpected guest, so I had to do something.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “Unexpected guest is not a nice name to call your husband.”

She’d done this so many times – _so many times_ – that it wasn’t funny anymore. Not that it ever was. She rolled her eyes. “I’d _love_ to divorce you—“

“—If it worked that way for us, I know.”

“God, you’d think its hell. Oh wait!” Sol stuck her index finger up, before switching to her middle one. “It is.”

“Ha ha,” Cullen responded dryly. “And Branson has a _name_.”

 She huffed another sigh before reaching behind the counter, trying hard _not_ to look at the ‘man’ – her _husband –_ that lingered unhelpfully to the side. It took a few minutes of fiddling, her hands groping past various objects and trinkets, before Cullen finally blew a breath from his nose. “You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?”

“Why are you here,” Sol said mechanically.

There was rustling behind her as Cullen placed two palms flat against the counter. “Mia sent me to retrieve you. There’s a matter you need to settle.”

Her fingers finally found the loose sheets of labels that had been eluding her. Procuring them in one, fluid movement, Sol blew a stray lock of red hair out of her face – only for it to fall back in front of her eyes. She tossed her head to the side before grabbing a pen. “Something that the queen and prince of Hell can’t handle?” She muttered as she set her pen against the white stickers.

Movement caught the corner of her eye; Sol remained very still as Cullen reached over and tucked that unruly piece of hair behind her ear. “We’re not all problem solvers, unfortunately. Incidentally, Mia doesn’t recommend us marching into war.”

Sol only managed to write one label, before she sighed, pushing the sheets away. She straightened, capturing his gold gaze with her own.  “Really, Cullen? _War_?”

His lips curved upward, just enough to disrupt the scar that scored along its upper left corner. “It was how we’d solved all our disputes before you got here.”

Sol sighed dramatically. “What would you have done if I hadn’t eaten that pomegranate?”

The grin was truly there now: broad, not at all warm. “Probably perished by swordfight.”

“The _horror_ ,” Sol said as she tossed her pen back into the holder. It clattered noisily. “Not as if you guys aren’t already dead.”

“That’s a technicality,” Cullen said as she dragged herself from around the counter. Sol stared ruefully at the spot where he’d first appeared, where the remains of a pot still laid in tatters on the ground. Cullen followed her gaze, and before she knew it, the pieces were flying back, as if it were a tape in reverse, restitching itself as if it were fabric and not terracotta.

The newly-reformed pot sat innocently on the floor. Sol sighed. “Thanks, Husband.”

“Anything for my wife,” he responded, the light lilt of his voice unbetraying of his absolutely contradictory tone. “Ready?”

“How long will this take? It _is_ Spring, after all.”

Cullen shrugged. “A few hours? Days maybe? It’s Mia, remember?”

Sol sighed again.

* * *

She made Cullen wait, only because she _could_. After all, he’d gone through the trouble of changing for her, so the least he could do is actually _wear_ the clothes before he inevitably ripped them.  She told him she wanted to pack, to water her plants before she left. To tell the only other person who worked at her flower shop that there was an unexpected complication (which was, in many ways, much more complicated than her poor Sera would ever know) and that Sera would need to come in every day. Not that she’d hold Sera to that: after all, the mousey blonde was her best friend, even before all this happened. Before she whisked away to the Underworld, before she had the misfortune of meeting _him,_ he who shifted his weight with a strained patience as she hung up her phone.

“Flowers for Mia?” Sol said.

Cullen shrugged. “You don’t have to,” he said. “She’s spoilt enough as is.”

“Don’t let her hear that,” Sol chastised as she browsed her own wares. Finally, she selected a couple carnations as her gift.

Cullen only gave her a brief smile, his too-large hands patting her on the head. Sol didn’t necessarily resent his touch, though she did muss her hair again, as if it’d fix her head of curls from being flattened. Finally, he extended a hand to her – to which she accepted, stuffing her other, her ringed hand into her pocket.

His grip tightened, enough so his matching ring pressed flushed against her fingers; a large, swirling portal yawned in front of them. “Ready?” His voice was lower now, somehow closer to her ear despite their unchanged distance.

“Ready.”

They stepped into the swirling mass. Sol endured through the simultaneous familiar yet unfamiliar lurch as it seemed as if her entire body rippled, adjusting as she felt solid ground before her feet again. Her vision sharpened and her body began to feel unnaturally warm; she counted to three, and only got to two, before Cullen’s tail pierced right through the back of his slacks.

“You’re going to buy me a new one,” she muttered as Cullen turned to her. She let him undo the top button her blouse, allowed his calloused touch to glide over the marking on her chest. Sol winced as the mark grew cold – and though it protected her mortal body from the unnatural aura that permeated in Hell, it still made her feel unnaturally warm. Like a pulsing target. Oh well, it was better off than being dead.

And despite their relationship, their mild hostility and the forcedness of their union, Cullen never let go of her hand – even after he’d marched out into the main hall of his castle, past the servants and handmaidens, after he’d pushed open the large double doors, the sound of metal screeching against tiled stone just as loud in Sol’s ears.

“Brother,” was Mia’s higher, but similarly rich, voice. “And Sol, my favourite sister-in-law!”

There she was, the Queen of Hell herself, sitting crosslegged on her impressive throne. Long mane of silvery-blonde hair and the same odd cross of molten gold yet hardened onyx for eyes, Mia had a perfectly cordial smile trained on her lips, even if it did expose her fang-like teeth.

“Mia,” Sol acknowledged. She’d long ignored the rather indignant gasps at her direct address that came from the otherwise invisible servants that loitered in the throne room. “Something for you.”

“Oh thank you, peach – those were my favourite from your stock today, how did you know? Also, Brother, just _try_ calling me spoilt again. I dare you.”

Sol ignored Cullen’s mutterings as Mia’s tail lashed once, before nestling on the ground, curling around her feet. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. There’s been unrest – Anora’s at it again. You’d _think_ she learned her lesson the first time.”

 _Anora._ Sol barely remembered _Hell 101_ when it was first thrust upon her, but the name was vaguely familiar.

“Anora, who rules the southern side?”

“South East, as she kindly likes to correct me,” Mia said. Cullen’s hand squeezed; Sol squeezed back. “Last time, we won. And then sent them the plague.”

If it were any other scenario – if she weren’t in literal _hell_ –that would’ve been amoral, outraged. But she _was_ in literal hell and everyone was dead anyways, or _technically_ dead, as Cullen had reminded her. It pained Sol to think that it wasn’t the worst that could happen, but it really _wasn’t_.

“So really, I don’t think Ferelden can handle another plague. And you’re better at this than either me or my fair Brother. So if you could kindly…”

Sol shot Cullen a glare, who only gave her an unhelpful shrug. “I’d love to.”

“ _Thank_ you, peach. Have I ever mentioned I’m so pleased you married my brother?”

“Several times,” Cullen answered for her. “And not as if you didn’t have a hand in it.”

Mia grinned. “One day, Cullen, you will thank me.” And then she twirled her hand, the markings down her arms glowing a subtle gold. It was strange, as it usually was – Sol felt as if her feet were light, feathers, and she may have lifted a few inches off the floor. Mia’s usual sign off, actually _affection_ , as Cullen had explained, before it was gone, and she felt the ground again. “I’ve arranged for Anora to arrive in a few days – plenty of time for you to rest and prepare. In the meanwhile, I hope you find the palace to your liking. We hadn’t had as much time to prepare as we weren’t really anticipating your arrival, but I hope you will still find your stay enjoyable all the same.”

“Thank you, Mia,” Sol said, and she was treated to another brilliant smile, before Cullen squeezed her hand again and lead them outside.

Once the doors shut behind them, Sol shot him a glare. “A few _days_?”

Cullen held up his unoccupied hand in surrender. “I’m sorry. Mia, remember?”

And as her head hit her pillow, her husband-by-force a safe distance away from her, Sol sighed and closed her eyes.

Hell, indeed.

 


End file.
